Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pinpricks of water, nearly ice, patted against a tattered and worn out coat.

The coat was torn, dirty, and small bits of dried-out blood clung to it, no matter how insistent the rain was to get it off.

It couldn't even be considered a coat anymore; or a jacket, more of a cloak with how thin it was, but better looking, Tommy insisted.

Right, the boy.

Flaxen hair was hidden under the 'coat', said coat soaked in water, cold and harsh tears of clouds hitting the owner's forehead and nose, mostly.

He walked in the dimly lit streets, some bulbs flickering occasionally, but Tommy couldn't get scared, The boy was fourteen! And a half !

His eyes almost glowed in the almost completely dark sidewalk, light blues mixed in with other shades.

Tommy's skin was deathly pale, and oh, his bones; his bones pressed aggressively against his skin, the result of eating nearly nothing, but enough to move, and that was almost enough for Tommy.

Almost.

Sometimes he'd pretend he was better off, three meals a day.

He'd pretend he had nearly fancy clothes, but not enough to be a snob, no, no!

Tommy used to pretend he had a family that loved him, not that he'd remember what that was like.

He quickly squashed that line of thinking down.

No one would want him.

Your friends do, a small voice whispered. He ignored it.

His worn boots squelched against a patch of mud, earning a groan of disgust from the boy since the mud got in one of the holes and onto his bare feet. Tommy wouldn't get socks, they get dirty easily and are overall useless in the end.

"Fuck." His voice scratched out, he wrinkled his nose at the texture of the mud squishing between his toes, a more than unpleasant feeling, cold and warm at the same time. Wet, but not liquid enough.

Tommy had just come from pickpocketing someone, earning a forty dollar watch. He could buy a few items of food with that if he sold it, but it was a nice watch and so shiny!

And, yeah, he could use it to tell time since he couldn't afford a phone, but it was shiny! It's basically a necessity, right?

If phones were considered a necessity to rich people, watches were a necessity to poor people, he supposed.

It wasn't a Rolex or anything (Tommy swore only snobs bought those), but it made a voice in his head go "need, need, need," and he just couldn't resist.

Before he could think, he clasped it on his left hand, not having a preference for using his hands since he was ambidextrous.

Tommy almost let out a pleased growl, but he heard something that sounded like a thud, his ears flicked around; his ears faced near him, near a nearby alleyway in front of him, only a couple feet away.

He froze, 'What the fuck was that?' He thought; he didn't dare voice it out, afraid of what could be just around the corner. danger-hurt-leave-den-danger-fear

Tommy almost ran with his tail between his legs; he almost ran, but he heard a pained yelp and a voice.

"It's over." It— they growled out. "We didn't do anything!" A new voice came in, significantly more low spoken and feminine, it sounded mostly unused to yelling, a voice crack when they raised their voice in volume.

Tommy had two choices.

Leave and let, what he assumed was two or more people die at the hands of someone, left with a guilty conscience.

Or, he could attempt to save them, most likely die along with the other people from a scary fucking man, and die with a good conscience.

He really didn't want to die, but he really didn't want to be a bad person.

But, fuck, did he want to live to see twenty-five. Maybe he would help when he was twenty-six.

Another thud, yelp, and panicked swear from a new voice was enough to make him move.

It was like he blacked out, like a different person controlled his body; one second he was by a streetlight, safely on the sidewalk.

The next, Tommy was in the dark alleyway, in front of four people, he didn't bother to take in what they looked like.

All he knew was one had messed up knuckles, towering over the three of them, a malicious grin on his face.

The idiot didn't even get to process Tommy's arrival before he sucked his teeth into his arm like a leech and bit. Hard.

The person started punching at him but he didn't let up, instead biting harder, preparing to fucking pull, even through the fabric of their jacket.

"Fucking — get off me!" The assaulter choked out. Though, he supposed maybe he was also considered an assaulter now.

Or a hero, that would be cool. He even had the cloak for it!

Tommy could hear the sounds of someone stumbling, then he felt his prey get yanked away from him.

Flesh tore off the man's arm, most of it, and cloth, in his mouth; he could feel and taste the blood.

A scream broke out; the fucker didn't even lose that much flesh, big pussy, he was.

Once Tommy registered what happened and his wolf brain wasn't yelling, "prey, prey, prey!" he looked at the person who pulled the man, it was probably done purposefully so this would happen.

"Fu—" The man coughed mid-word, "I'm calling the p-police!" He then scurried off, dick up his mouth and head in his ass.

He probably wasn't going to call the cops.

Maybe.

After a good two minutes of silence, a voice broke the atmosphere. "...Uh. Nice, uh, nice… job?" It was phrased like a question and very awkward.

It's not everyday you see a werewolf that bites off barely any of someone's arm.

His ear flicked to the new voice, "Yeah… um. Thanks, big— are you okay with 'big man'? Actually, wait, why was that guy— nevermind." He chose to backtrack, afraid it was some gang thing. But when he looked over at them, he realized that was probably wrong.

There were three teenagers, around his age, maybe.

One, the one who was talking to him, had fluffy ears on their head, much like his own, but… more cat-like.

Their hair was curly brown, their eyes brown as well.

They were shorter than Tommy, but about average height. I mean, Tommy is fourteen and six-foot-three.

The person wore a mask for the bottom half of their face, fixing it since it must have gotten messed up.

They wore a black hoodie and what looked like sweatpants, with sneakers. He couldn't tell if they had socks on or not.

Their tail swished nervously behind them, erratic flicks.

The one on their left was completely covered. He couldn't tell what they looked like besides the fact they had a dark grey t-shirt with a design he didn't bother to look at, a black coat over it.

They had dark jeans on and sneakers, along with fingerless gloves.

Their hood was up so he couldn't tell what their hair looked like, and they had a bottom mask along with sunglasses.

'No-face', he dubbed them, had black boots on.

But what intrigued him the most was their wings.

The coat and t-shirt had slits in them, perfectly placed for their wings.

The feathers were narrow and looked sharp; he wondered if they actually were.

The colors, oh, the colors.

Golds, whites, and a few rare light pinks adorned them. They gleamed in the dim light, he would stare forever if he could, caught in awe.

He knew the wings weren't very big, but they were still so very awesome.

When he skimmed their outfit again, a pin caught his eye. He quickly realized it was a pronoun pin, (see, he wasn't completely oblivious!) that read he/him/xe/xeir. .

Okay, now he knows his pronouns.

Lastly, he looked at the last person.

They wore a distant look on their face, like they were spacing out.

Their eyes were… grey, he thought? Maybe hazel. Their hair almost matched his, what he dubbed 'honey' colored hair cut just above their chest, a bit messed up.

The ears were a bit pointy, but looked normal. Well, human-normal; Tommy learned to not judge a book by its cover, though.

Their face wore freckles against pale skin, like they never got any sun. Deep eyebags were on their face, either genetics, stress, sleep, sickness, maybe all.

What they wore was a black crop top, fishnets on their arms, to their hands, but like long fingerless gloves, except fishnets.

They wore dark blue shorts, long white socks pulled up to their knees.

He looked at their feet and they had short boots, five inch heel boots, actually.

The cat and whatever this person was both had black nails, the cat's nail polish more chipped.

No-face had yellow nails, the shade you'd associate with joy, and it made him almost smile.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, "are you all furries?" Tommy raised his left eyebrow; or he tried to. All he accomplished was raising both of them, damn the universe.

"...you're a werewolf, dipshit." The first one, the cat hybrid, replied. "By your dumb fucking logic, you're also a furry, plus you're British, so you're inferior." They added.

No-face started laughing a bit, the blonde one cracked a smile while suppressing their laugh.

"I am a werewolf, but what's convincing me that you lot don't just have mechanical tails 'n shit for your fuckin' furry stuff?" He countered, his tail wagging a bit in amusement. Tommy couldn't remember the last time he made playful jabs at others without ending up in bruises… or worse.

He thinks he'd take that over the yelling and insults, though.

"Okay, well—" "I win, bitch." Tommy cut them off, a smug smile on his face.

"I also saved your life, so I'm a better person by default." He added.

"Since you saved us, we might as well give a complete rabid-wolf-stranger our names." The feline replied, "I'm Grayson. He, they, xe, doll." They gave him a challenging look, as if just asking him to be rude about the neos.

Tommy just nodded, then No-face spoke up, "Uh, I'm Toby. Pin has my pronouns." Xe said, shuffling a bit.

He looked at the last one, "Oliver or Rev. Pronouns change, but I go by any including nouns and nounselves right now, like 'it' or, uh, 'mew', I don't really care." It said, wringing its hands.

"I'm Tommy, he slash him, but I'm also fine with they-them." He informed them all, "Nice to meet you all, except Grayson." Tommy hoped they took that as a joke, people normally didn't appreciate his jokes; he had the bruises to prove it.

Toby let out a startled laugh, Oliver's cheeks puffed with air trying to keep a straight face, and Grayson's mouth was -what he assumed, from the mask moving away from his nose- agape, a false offended look on his face.

"Stop with the Gray slander; this is so unfair." Grayson joked, faux offense in his words.

"Imagine speaking in third person, bitch." Tommy smirked; he was very pleased with himself. He saved two — no, three people from a big as fuck dude and he was spitting out jokes -or insults, depends on how you look at it- like there was no tomorrow!

Though, if he gets killed by these three strangers — acquaintances, no one else would know, and that was very un-pog, if he says so himself.

(He does.)

"It was nice to meet you lot, but I have many women to get to, so I must be off!" Okay, they're not that intimidating, and they don't look that strong, -maybe Grayson- but looks are deceitful.

You don't need to know how to throw a punch to knock someone the fuck out. It's more smarts, not strength.

You could be jacked and physically capable, but if you're stupid as hell, you're not going to do shit.

Throw kicks and punches all you want, you won't win if you're not also mentally capable and able to adapt to surroundings and use your surroundings.

"Oh, yeah, it is late, isn't it?" Grayson says, (not asks, despite it being phrased as a question. It's not a question he's supposed to answer,) "We need'a go, too. I don't want to be locked out of the building again," The last bit was more-so directed to Toby and Oliver.

"Yeah, uh, well, bye. Tweet about my heroic move, the ladies will love it," Tommy insisted before starting to walk away.

Just barely audible, he heard one of them whisper to the others: "Cis dudes, am I ri—"

He was too far to hear the rest and everyone's reactions, but he heard a loud screech of startled laughter from the person who said it and a yell of: "I'm sorry— it was funny, though!"

He reckons they're right'uns, the lot of 'em.

Now, to go to his apartment, shared with his two friends, Ranboo and Tubbo.

When the building came to view, he let out a sigh of relief, until his pup brain started acting up, chanting, den-nest-playmates-friends-love-love!

'Annoying bitch.' He ignored the slight purr building up at the thought of his bed. (Definitely not his friends, surely not. That wasn't the reason.)

( That's a lie. )

He blinked, he's in front of the apartment building entrance.

He blinked, he's on the stairs.

He blinked, he's in front of his shared apartment door.

He blinked; Tubbo was rubbing his eyes, facing a bright monitor, despite it being on dark mode, on a coding website.

Tommy looked over to the bunk bed, Ranboo passed out on the top bunk, snoring a bit loud.

Tubbo took a moment to register the sound of the door opening and closing, his head snapping to where Tommy was standing.

"Oh, hey, bossman! Ran left work early and passed out on the couch, something about someone being able to take over his night shifts, so he only has to work five AM to three PM." He explained.

Oh. So Tommy will have to pickpocket more and work a few extra hours at Trivial Café.

"Go to bed, Tommy. You look like shit," Tubbo kindly supplied, "I'm goin' to bed soon, this coding commission is gonna take me a few more hours."

Tubbo had been working on that commission for a week now, he must've been relieved that it was almost done.

"Yeah, okay. 'Night, Tubs," Tommy yawned, walking over to his twin sized bed, the springs messed up from various reasons, such as all three having to share it at first— which was unpleasant, given that Ranboo was 6'7, Tommy 6'3, and Tubbo… he wasn't very tall, but it was three people, anyway, and Tommy just crashing onto the bed to sneak-attack the others when they were relaxing.

Ranboo and Tubbo had a white bunk bed, Ranboo had the top, black sheets with two white pillows and an Enderman plush -egotistical bastard, having a plush that was the same species as him- named Oobnar, proudly named by Tubbo. Ranboo's blanket was a once fluffy blanket (it's not as soft and fluffy anymore, probably from drinks being spilled on it which had costed Ranboo money to wash at the laundromat) that was light blue and white, mostly blue.

Tommy thought the name was shit. ( That's a lie. )

Tubbo had the bottom bunk, grey sheets, one white pillow, and two blankets that were plaid, red and black.

Tommy's bed was nothing special, it wasn't customized to his liking like theirs were. It was plain, dark grey sheets that definitely had a few holes (covered by his white pillow which didn't have a pillow case) and a few drink stains that never washed off completely, and a black, thin blanket.

Tommy launched himself onto the squeaky bed -after taking his shoes, bag, and cloak off, you hooligan- and shoved his face into his pillow.

Warm-happy-den-nest-love-warm-sleep, 'Baby Wolf Tommy' purred, happy.

Regret filled his stomach when he realized he still had mud between his toes, and most of it was probably dried.

'Shit.' Was his last thought before he passed the fuck out.

Chapter Text

It's been a week since he went out into the alleyway and risked his -very big- life, and shit.

He was bored. That was the most exciting experience he'd ever… well, experienced.

And now he was talking to his customer about which milk they'd like in their coffee while he was running on four cans of Coca-Cola and a cup of coffee Tubbo convinced him to get, (which he hated) Tommy thought that was very lame.

He's a big man, he deserved a big man job! Like— like… guarding the Queen! Shit, but he doesn't live in the United Kingdom. Much less near the Queen.

But if he did, he'd be the best guard there! The Queen would want to marry him the instant he saw him, yes, yes!

Well, maybe once he turns eighteen. That would not be a good look for Elizabeth.

"Cappuccino for… Susan W.!" He squinted, it was a mistake to let customers write it on their own, he should've just done it. The handwriting was barely readable.

"Thanks, have a good one." She hastily took the cup and slapped down 10.53 on the table, "Keep the change," Susan power-walked out, late for her pilates class. (Which he knew because she was a regular and she loved talking.)

She left before he could reply, so he didn't even try; Tommy continued making the last three coffees, the morning rush was almost over, thank god… or whatever was out there, if there was.

Purpled walked over to Tommy, phone in hand, "Hey, Tommy. Tubbo sent me a message, something about him trying to experiment with a clock?" He furrowed his eyebrows as Tommy's face drooped. Oh, god. What'd Tubbo do?

"He's asking for you to pick up a new alarm clock, he broke the other one," Purpled summed up. "He'll pay you back. Anyway, I'm going home before Mom freaks out. There's been vampire attacks lately." He concluded, "Bye, Tom." Purpled walked away as Tommy just blinked.

'Fuck, Tubbo. You better give me a few extra dollars for this, risking my life for an alarm clock.' Maybe he was being dramatic, but he was going to be guilting Tubbo very hard when he got home. He was already rehearsing his dramatics in his mind as he made a black coffee for his favorite regular, Sam.

He was a heathen for getting pure black coffee, but besides that, and his lack of wives, he was a pretty awesome dude.

"Black coffee, hot, like you like it, for the biggest man ever," Tommy gave him the steaming hot cup which had hand pads to not burn either of their skins off, though Sam was a creeper, so maybe he didn't need it.

But Tommy definitely wasn't a creeper, so he used it, anyway.

"Thank you, Tommy! Have a good day, but you're amazing, so I don't think you need me to tell you that," Sam joked, giving him a small smile before going out the door, the chiming sound reaching Tommy's ears.

Eryn was working later, 'Hah!' Tommy doesn't have to close the café tonight! Take that, bitch!

(Tommy only felt a bit bad. After all, someone did bring their toddler with them and, as a result, there's a big puddle of coffee on the floor.)

He stretched his arms and back out, sighing in relief.

Tommy had adjusted his hours, three extra, so he didn't feel too bad about having Eryn close Trivial. It was already getting dark, he looked at 'his' shiny watch, 7:04 PM.

Well, that's his cue to get going, if he hurries up, he can be at the clock shop in around fifteen minutes, home in thirty.

Tommy took off his apron, 'If I save up enough, maybe I'll be able to afford a phone,' he thought, 'but it wouldn't be able to be on, just run off WiFi. I'd be able to get Discord though, like Tubbs and Ran.'

His friends were a bit better off, able to afford their phones being turned on, laptops, and a few nice things. They had offered money to him before, but Tommy quickly shut that down, a pained look in his eyes.

They never brought it up again.

He was thankful for that. Tommy didn't need help, nor did he want it. ( That's a lie. )

Thankfully, it was not raining when he went outside. It was cold and windy, but it wasn't raining.

He sighed, remembering he had to go to the clock-shop/bookstore. 'Damn you, Tubbo.' Tommy moped, and— the thing is, Tubbo could just use his phone as an alarm!

Tubbo insists that an actual alarm clock makes it more aesthetic and real.

Whatever that means.

Gods, he hoped that the clocks weren't all antique and overpriced. He wouldn't know, he's never been to a clock shop, he's been to stores that sell them, but not where it's… basically the whole thing.

Plus a book area, but he didn't think he'd buy any. Maybe.

Turns out being lost in thought and not paying attention to your surroundings is effective!

Tommy looked in front of him, and in obnoxiously bright lights, one letter flickering, there was the title of the shop— Blades of Time.

'Fuckin' stupid.' He thought, almost scoffing. It was more fit for a book name, or a movie, not a shop. It looked dumb.

Tommy thought that if Blades of Time was a movie, it'd be one people explained to their friends and laughed about how bad it was.

He looked over at the schedule paper almost falling off from the inside of the door, 'Please, please, please—' He let out a sigh of relief, it was open for two more hours, thank the gods.

Tommy pulled one of the doors… then realized the big-ass sign on the right door that said 'Push'.

He will never be speaking about this to anyone, I mean, why are there handles if it's a push door?!

Tommy pushed the left door, a chiming sound reaching his ears.

When he walked in, he was instantly met with warmth, and the shop looked homely, spruce wood for the floors and some other wood he didn't care about for the walls.

The shelves on the right side of the store had clocks, a few on and ticking, neatly placed; he almost swayed to the ticking.

The left side had books of all kinds, organized by genre, A-Z, none tilted or dusty.

Listen, he knows he said he wouldn't buy any books, but he just wanted to hold one.

He didn't, Tommy beelined straight to the clocks, organized by type, alarm clocks, grandfather clocks, (How did they get those out? He was certain the doors weren't big enough for most of them,) wall clocks, a few digital clocks, but not many, and others.

A lot were off, the hands not moving, nor ticking. It made him feel weird, the thought of clocks, of machines that are used to tell time, not ticking— not tracking.

Tommy heard footsteps, and then a voice from his left, "Hello, do you need any help finding anything?" They asked, an accent much like his own, despite them living in America. He doesn't see many Brits.

Their voice felt enchanting, calming, and safe. It felt like music to his fluffy ears.

But it still scared the shit out of him.

"Wha—?!" Tommy snapped his head to his left… then up… and a bit more up. Shut up, Tommy's tall. ( That's a lie. )

"Oh! Did I scare you?" They asked, a bit of concern and… motherfucker, was that amusement?

"No, I never get scared," he thought for a moment, "bitch." There we go.

Okay, this dude looked intimidating, and Tommy's jokes have never exactly ended up… good? But this… fuckwad scared the ever living hell out of him, big man Tommy Inks!

The stranger looked at him, blinked, then seemed to process that a literal 14-year-old just called him a bitch.

"Are you sure? Kids can get lost very easily." The person supplied, faux concern in his voice and over-exaggerated furrowed brows.

"What the fuck ?! I'll have you know that I am eighteen, my driver's license says so, fucker," he glared at them.

He would pull his totally real and not forged ID out, but he didn't want this stranger to know his full name; Tommy also didn't want them to know his height and weight, that's kind of weird.

"Uh-huh , child, you are, like, 5'8. Unless you're a late bloomer, which I doubt, you are at the very maximum sixteen, and that's a stretch." The absolute fucker had the audacity to smile at him. Smile!

He was about to rip him into four when he glanced at a clock, 'Okay, I'm already late. Argue later.'

Tommy huffed, his tail flicking in mild amusement and a bit of stress— Tubbo could get overprotective. If he's not home by the time he's supposed to be, he's certain he'll come home to police cars.

Wait, no, Tubbo is a borderline criminal, (the failed nukes can attest,) and he doesn't like the government, including police.

He'll come home to Tubbo's scary as shit friends, sending out buff as fuck dudes to slaughter whoever Tubbo thought 'kidnapped' Tommy.

Oh, gods. He should hurry; Tubbo was fucking scary, and oh, so clingy. Tommy isn't. ( That's a lie. )

"Listen, I'd love to inform you of how women don't want to get within seven feet of a theater kid—" Tommy ignored that he used to be a theater kid, "but I have to get home in time so I don't get back to Army helicopters circling the area because my roommate—" he avoided the use of friend, is Tubbo his friend? Tommy didn't know, Tubbo was closer with Ranboo nowadays, "realized I didn't come home within three minutes after my time off."

The guy snorted in surprise, "Alright, you said you didn't need help, right?" They waited for Tommy to confirm, "I'll be at the desk, kid."

He suppressed the urge to (playfully) insult the dude, instead going towards the alarm clocks. He got a generic red one that had what's-it-called on both sides— are they buttons?

Tommy glanced at the books but didn't move towards them, instead, he walked over to the annoying, what he assumed, was the shopkeeper.

"Oi, dick, I got all my shit, unlike you," it was half-assed, but seemed to do its job as— Tommy saw a nameplate on the desk, Wilbur Soot shook their head and smiled.

"That's 6.73, child." Soot informed, as if Tommy didn't see the fucking sticker on the clock.

He put his hand in his jean pocket, (gods, jeans were uncomfortable,) and pulled out an eight, putting it on the counter.

Soot opened the register, giving Tommy his change and putting the eight in it. He took the clock, putting it in his duffel bag, "Thanks, dickwad." Tommy saluted, like the drama King he is, "Bye, bitch."

As Tommy walked out, he swore he heard the fuck say something along the lines of: "Children shouldn't swear," he resisted the urge to deck the bitch, walking towards the apartment.

Today was a pretty good day, he'd say. He got extra money because someone tipped him five dollars and three cents, and he got to curse out a shopkeeper with zero consequences.

That's what they get for choosing that stupid ass name.

Tommy didn't feel the eyes on his back , unfamiliar and hidden behind a mask, the shadows hiding it.

Tommy didn't have good dreams that night.

Chapter Text

Tommy had been having bad dreams— nightmares, even; the nightmares started a few weeks ago, he recalls going to a shop for Tubbo and swearing a bitch out.

He didn't know why his brain was being stupid, making him dream of being chased down by… someone, or something.

All he could see in his dreams was a dark green cloak, some… type of mask, he could never recall what it was, but he knew it was mostly white.

He could almost feel the breeze as he was being chased, the hair poking his eyes, the sore feet. Tommy realized that he had been running for a long time, from whatever was chasing him.

Oh, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The… thing had a big axe made of sharp material he's never seen, glinting in the moonlight, giving an almost enchanted shine.

He could hear a distorted laugh, maniacal, thrilled.

It was like they were playing cat and mouse, but the cat was a lion, nipping at Tommy's heels.

His heart thumped in his ears, almost real— almost true.

He could never control his body, all he could feel was fear; dread coursed in his veins. Tommy swore his veins would pop out.

All he knew to do was run — run and don't look back. There's nothing but death for him there.

Eventually, the monster would catch up to him… he screams in his dreams and when he wakes up.

Tubbo was always worried. Tommy has never had dreams this bad since… then. But those eventually turned to daydreams, thoughts, then memories he never dug up. Tommy knew it was always in the back of his mind, just out of reach. Taunting him.

All he could remember from those events were screaming and bruises, he didn't know what they screamed — it was just loud and angry.

Tommy probably deserved it, he thought.

He never remembered the faces, (if he tried hard enough, they'd all have white masks, with some sort of face on them) but he knew they were his parents — his biological parents.

"Please, don't hurt—!" A crash. A yell. A woman was bleeding— his mother? Where was he, again?

He heard a man yell at her— or was he yelling at Tommy? It's fuzzy. Oh, right, he's at his apartment. Wait.

He blinked, this wasn't his apartment. Who's bleeding on the floor?

He scrunched his nose, yelling in his right ear, then a kick, a punch, a bat—

A blur.

Where was he?

He felt cool air on his right ear, "Safe," a whisper, "don't worry. You're safe, Tommy."

He liked this voice, it was raspy and familiar, yet he's never heard it before.

A blur.

Who is Tommy?

His eyes shot open, his legs jumped. Where was he? His ears flicked every which way, twitching anxiously.

He tried to see in the vast sea of darkness that was the room, but he saw almost nothing; his eyes haven't adjusted.

Tommy jerked his elbow, hitting something off the— bed?

He blinked rapidly, fear-packmates-comfort-confusion-danger. Tommy's heart thumped in his ears, taking in the scents.

One was Tubbo — he was on the bottom bunk of Tubbo and Ranboo's bunk bed. Wait, where was Ranboo?

His eyes darted frantically before he heard a groan on the side of his bed; familiar, it was Ranboo.

Tommy looked to his left, eyes already adjusted; his friend was on the ground clutching his stomach dramatically. He snorted, turning on the bedside lamp, it didn't light up much besides the area around Tommy's bed, but it worked— mostly.

He blinked a few times, pupils turning to slits from the light, then Tommy looked back down to meet red and green eyes. "Ran'?" Tommy held out a hand to help his friend, "Why were you on this small ass bed," he snorted, imagining Ranboo and his long limbs struggling to not fall off.

Ranboo groaned at the light but took his hand, grunting as Tommy helped him back on. Tommy sat up on the bed, back against the wall; Ranboo sat on Tommy's left side after he scooted a bit right to make room for Ranboo.

"You were, uh…" Tommy's friend looked at him, "you were having a nightmare again." Ranboo sighed, and Tommy grimaced.

"Was it the same one?" He nodded, Ranboo unsurprised by the affirmation to his question. "You need to get a therapist or something, these dreams… you— you wake up screaming. You know that, right?" His friend looked at Tommy, and— and his eyes were so full of love and concern that it almost made Tommy cry and throw up at the same time.

He didn't deserve his friends, Tommy thought. 'They're too good for a screw-up like me.'

Tommy sighed, "Therapy is expensive as hell, 'Boo. I'm— we're not exactly better-off, you know." He huffed, "We live in a shit place where half of it is built by mold," Tommy exaggerated.

"I know, but— but you need help," Ranboo looked at him, "and… and you never talk to Tubbo and I about anything, so I doubt you'd start now." He looked tired— tired and sad, worried. Tommy was afraid Ranboo would start crying; if Ranboo didn't cry, Tommy's sure he, himself would.

"You need to talk to someone. A rock, for christ's sake— just something." Ranboo's voice broke at the end, and Tommy— Tommy had never felt worried for, much less loved as much as he felt at that moment.

And, it's not like Tommy didn't trust his friends— he did! But he had spent his whole life being a burden to others, when he opened up to people, when he cried, sobbed, screamed — they felt obligated to comfort him. They felt like they needed to help.

He didn't want to do that to his friends; it was better to bottle it all up— or, he thought. Before he saw the look in Ranboo's eyes. The pain, the love.

Ranboo was more than a friend— he was Tommy's big brother, and seeing his brother like this? He thinks it'd be worse if he didn't talk to Ranboo about it. Tommy couldn't see him like this, not much more.

"I… I keep getting chased," he started off, avoiding looking at Ranboo's eyes. "It's by this— this thing  It has a cloak, green. Dark green." Tommy felt a hand squeeze his arm lightly, reassuring.

"It has a fuckin'— a weird fuckin' mask. It's, like, white. It has a face on it, but I don't remember what kind," His voice shakes. "All I know about it is that it's creepy— like, more than creepy."

Tommy could feel the way Ranboo's eyes were full of concern and care.

That's why Tommy didn't look at his eyes; if he did, he'd start crying. He didn't want to cry.

"It has a big, sharp axe. It— I think it thinks of it like a game, it laughs— it fuckin' laughs when it chases me. It's like a manhunt." Tommy shudders, "I… I never win." His voice cracks, "I never win against it. It always catches— catches up." Ranboo wrapped him up into a hug, and gods, Tommy needed that.

He felt his tears build up, blinking them away. "Oh, Toms. I'm so sorry," Ranboo whispered, Tommy liked his brother's voice— it was comforting.

"Don't worry. You're safe, Tommy." His brother consoled, rubbing circles into his back— but his head ached badly. Those words felt familiar, like he heard it before. He should remember.

He should remember.

He never does remember.

Tommy huffs, leaving Purpled to close up Trivial. 'Hah, bitch.' He thought, lightheartedly.

He checks his watch, but it doesn't move.

Tommy's watch is broken.

He groaned, he should've checked the time at the Trivial clock. Now he has to go repair the stupid fucker, or he could have someone repair it for him.

Tommy thinks he broke it when he accidentally knocked it off the sink today— or when Tubbo stepped on it, rushing around and not realizing… or maybe it was when—

Okay, he should take better care of his things; 'Noted.'

Tommy didn't want to risk breaking it more by trying to fix it, and Tubbo would fix it, but only after scolding him about how "he should be more responsible with his things," and he couldn't take the embarrassment as Ranboo would silently slurp on his noodles, pretending to be scrolling on his phone and not watching them, but he was.

"Entertainment," Ranboo had called it once before Tommy kicked his left knee.

Tubbo's out of the question, so who— 'Oh! That Soot bitch.' Tommy's eyes lit up as he sped up his pace on the sidewalk, he'd been wanting to visit again— obviously, not to exchange banter. ( That was a lie. A big, fat lie. )

He clearly wanted to go there to fix his watch. That's all.

If Tommy had a skip in his step as he practically ran over to the direction of the shop, that was his business— and his alone.

The cold air nipped at his heels as he jogged, finally, finally, spotting a familiar building, Blades of Time.

He grumbled as he almost tripped, he looked back and saw nothing that would've made him trip. Tommy's just clumsy, he supposed.

He made sure to turn the door the correct way, a bell chiming as his presence was announced; Tommy heard shuffling, and an unfamiliar person walked out.

They had pink, long hair— and, look! They were like Tommy! Fluffy ears attached to their head, though theirs were a bit damaged, the wounds looked old and mostly healed, despite a small bit of the tip of their ear missing.

"Er, hello." The person blinked, shuffling a bit awkwardly. "I'm, um, Techno… blade. On my nametag. How can I help you?"

He glanced at Technoblade's nametag.

Tommy just… stared. Right into their blood red eyes, which should be concerning, but he didn't pay attention.

Probably brown. Maybe. Probably.

"Where's Soot?" Tommy asked, bluntly. "I thought they were the owner." He blinked.

"I— yeah, he's the co-owner," Techno… Technoblade replied, and Tommy noted the use of the he/him pronouns.

"Okay—" He shuffled, "I didn't think he had enough money to have employees." Tommy joked, but it either wasn't funny enough or they didn't realize it was a joke because they just scratched the back of their neck.

"No— no he does." And then like an afterthought, they added, "I'm the other co-owner. We don't have any employees besides the times when Puffy volunteers—" they cut themself off.

"...Sorry." Technoblade awkwardly said, and Tommy noticed they didn't like eye-contact.

"No, it's fine, bossma— boss… person," Tommy replied, giving a small, reassuring smile.

Technoblade nodded, then seemed to register the second bit of the sentence; "Uh, either… one. Not, um, girl, though." They wringed their fingers.

Damn, this was awkward. "Um… same. He-slash-him. And they— and they-them pronouns." Tommy stammered. He was way out of his element.

"He-they." Technoblade replied. "Uh…" Tommy trailed off, he was usually really good at talking to people, but this man threw him off.

"I'm… do y'know how to fix wrist clocks?" Tommy asked, dumbly forgetting the term.

Technoblade blinked, then their eyes slightly widened in realization before resting again; "No, I— I specialize in, uh, the book… area," He informed, before adding, "But Phil can," Technoblade nodded to himself.

And, silently, Tommy thought something along the lines of: 'How many of them are there?'

"But he's, uh, not— not working tonight. He works tomorrow." He supplied, "Never on Tuesdays," Technoblade mumbled to himself, and Tommy noted it. "Okay…" Tommy felt awkward again.

"You can, uh, leave your watch here." Technoblade said, and Tommy furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Why?" He asked, dumbfounded; the man furrowed his brows as if to mimic before stopping.

"So Phil can work on it. It can take a few hours to a day, depending on what watch you have. Can— can I see it?"

Tommy nodded, taking off the watch and handing it over to them. "Yeah, yeah." Technoblade hummed, "This is an easy fix, Phil could fix it within…" They examined a bit closer, "like, two to four hours. Are you leaving it over here or bringing it tomorrow?" They blinked, looking at his eyes— but, wait, they didn't like eye-contact. Oh, the forehead. He remembered Tubbo watching a TikTok about it.

Tommy almost forgot to answer, "I'm leaving it here, I guess. Easier," he replied. "How much will it cost?"

Technoblade hummed, "Like… thirty dollars." And, wow, that's underpriced for four hours of fixing a small watch.

"Oh, okay." Tommy nodded, taking out a twenty and two fives from his pocket and handing it to them.

He took it, walking over to the front desk and opening the drawer that Tommy assumed to be a replacement for a cash register. He wondered what happened to the cash register that Tommy did not hallucinate seeing the last time he came.

Technoblade put the cash in, tail swishing idly. He noticed it was a brown tail, so pink hair wasn't a hybrid trait for Technoblade.

"Uh, thank you. I'll see you… later." Tommy tucked his hands in his pockets.

Technoblade hummed— he did that a lot, he wondered if it was a vocal stim. The humming sounded nice paired with Technoblade's monotone voice.

"Yeah." They shook their hands, a stim Tommy recognized as he, himself, did it sometimes.

"B—" " Tech, I found your books! They were stashed behind a bookshelf for some reason." Soot's familiar voice, warm and eerie, grew closer as Tommy heard the fumbling of feet and Tommy thought he heard him almost fall.

He wished Soot did, but alas, he did not.

A brown tuft of hair squashed under a red beanie made an appearance, a yellow, soft looking, long sleeved sweater adorned the man, along with brown pants that were slightly baggy; Tommy also did not miss the big, black boots.

He snorted internally, 'Theater kid.'

"Why are there so ma— child! " Soot cut himself off, greeting Tommy with a big smile, instantly forgetting the books, setting them on the desk.

"I wasn't expecting you to come here again!" Tommy could almost smell the lie. He scoffed, "It wasn't to see you again, dickhead. My…" Tommy paused, forgetting the word, "my watch broke. Technoblade said, uh, Phil will be able to fix it." Tommy hummed; damn you, Technoblade.

"Oh, okay. How'd it break?" Soot asked, and Tommy grimaced.

" Er…" He looked to the side, as if he was in a TV show shitty coming-of-age comedy.

"Hard to explain, innit?" Tommy avoided, "Anyway, I should get home before—"

At that moment, Tommy heard the dreaded bell, the door opening hastily.

"Tommy! I was fuckin' worried!" Tubbo ignored the others, speed-walking to Tommy; "Tubs, you're so fuckin' clingy, man. I'm like… ten minutes late." Tommy had checked one of the hundreds of clocks.

Nest-lovelovelove-friend!

Tubbo huffed, "I'm not clingy— I'm— to be fair, people have been, you know, dying as of late." Tommy's friend grumbled.

"Yeah, well, I'm not dead. Well… it depends on how you look at death," He pondered.

"Now's not the time to ponder life," Tubbo looked at Tommy's eyes; he huffed, averting his gaze. When his friends looked in his eyes, he felt… vulnerable— like they could see every emotion, just by looking at them.

"Why are you here?" Tubbo finally took in his surroundings; "Oh, my god! Did you finally decide to pick up a book for once?!" Tommy's friend gasped, joking.

"No, big man, I'm too cool for that." He nodded, "My— uh, watch broke," Tommy braced himself for the "Tommy, you need to take care of your things," "Tommy, be more responsible," "Tommy, what do you mean you stole the watch?" All bullshit, if you ask him.

Tubbo stared at him, seeming to contemplate what to say, then he sighed.

"Let's go home, I'm tired." Tubbo mumbled, tail swishing left and right, slowly.

"Yeah, uh, okay." Tommy turned to Soot and Technoblade, Soot blinked. "Nice to meet you, Technoblade. And I'm glad to see your fashion sense has slightly improved," he turned to Soot.

"I— my fashion sense is fine!" "No, you need a red and white shirt, trust me, mate." Tommy replied, "I'm gonna go home now, bye lads." "Aww, bye, gremlin!"

Tommy glared half-heartedly, then Technoblade spoke up. "Just call me Techno, ru— kid." "You got it, big man."

Tubbo and Tommy walked out, heading home in the cool air; Tubbo's goat tail was wrapped lightly around Tommy's wrist, and he almost purred, but he refrained himself.

Big men don't purr.

When they got home, Tommy was filled with lovelovelove-friends-den-nest-love and he fell asleep— this time, the three made a small werewolf-brain approved nest with blankets, pillows, and Oobnar.

They all fell asleep eventually, after playing some Uno, a bundle of limbs tossed in every direction.

Tommy couldn't ask for a pa— for friends better than them.

He was sure that wasn't possible.

Tommy didn't have any nightmares that night— in fact, he didn't remember what he dreamt about when he woke up.

Chapter Text

"So, Tom," Purpled started the conversation, Tommy hummed to show he was listening, wiping down tables whilst Purpled leaned against a wall and watched. 'Prick.'

"Someone gave me a tidbit of information that may help you." Tommy raised an eyebrow, looking up at him.

"Go on." "You've made friends, haven't you?" Purpled asked, but it was rhetorical; Purpled may be a teenager, but he knew everything, connections everywhere. People talk, word gets around, but only Purpled knows the true answer.

He has a knack for knowing if people lie or not.

"What about it?" Tommy questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. Tommy's friend talked as if he was in Person of Interest when he was giving information, all dramatic-like.

He was no Harold.

"You don't know people as much as you think," his friend said, ominously. "Be careful." Purpled narrowed his eyes, "You're one of the only people I like, Tommy." He pushed himself off the wall; "I give you this information for free, for your safety…" Tommy paused his cleaning, looking at Purpled. "Those vampire attacks?"

The boy with the purple hoodie looked at him with a cold face; "They weren't from a rogue fledgling or whatever shit they made up. The one you suspect the least…" Purpled warned, "is always the most dangerous."

Tommy looked at him, "Purpled—" "Have fun closing, it's your turn. Do you need me to tell Tubbo you're going to be late… picking up your watch?" "I— who told you?" "Tom, I have connections everywhere. I needed to make sure you were safe. Vampires among other things aren't very kind, especially at night," Purpled quirked his mouth up a bit, staring Tommy into his eyes.

Purpled scared Tommy sometimes; sure, they were friends, but Purpled got information about Tommy without his knowledge sometimes— about personal stuff. He knew his birth parent's names, something Tommy kept a secret from everyone, and tried to keep a secret from himself at times.

He traded information for information, called in favors, sometimes money if he was saving up for stuff or wanted to surprise his mom with a gift that he couldn't afford otherwise.

Tommy's ears perked up at the sudden laugh, "No, you should've seen your face," Purpled smiled. "I saw that your watch wasn't working and called Tubbo this morning to see if I should buy a watch for you. He said you dropped it off at Blades of Time to fix, you told him. Said it'd be done today," Tommy visibly relaxed at that, and if his appreciation for his friend grew at him mentioning he'd buy Tommy a watch, seemingly for free, that was for Tommy to know and no one else.

"Tom," his friend walked to the door, "I'm serious, though. Be careful, I know you can take care of yourself, but never be scared to ask me to help if you need it." Purpled softened, "If it's for your safety, it's always free. You're my best friend, dude." The younger one bit back a smile and purr of appreciation for Purpled, instead settling on thanking him.

"Thanks, man." Tommy's left ear twitched down, just a small sign of platonic affection he was sure his friend wouldn't see, but by the growing smile, he thinks he did. "No problem, Tom. I'll call Tubbo after I leave, unless you want to talk to him?" Tommy shook his head, "Okay, bye Tom. If you need to call anyone, the café phone is in the back—" ''And everyone's numbers are in a book by it, I know. Go surprise your mom with whatever you bought with Eryn's money last week, you said it arrived yesterday, right?" Purpled nodded, "Alright, bye Tom." "You already said bye, stop being a mother hen."

Purpled huffed lightheartedly and exited the Trivial, bell jingling, leaving Tommy alone to close. He'd never admit it, but closing alone always freaked him out. He didn't like it. Lately, he'd been paranoid, like a set of eyes were watching him— studying him; Tommy hated the feeling, it made his skin crawl and spine shiver.

Maybe Trivial should install cameras, Ms. Rose and Mx. Loves had enough money to do it, but they were pretty swamped with the website they were making— a coffee and baking website, homemade Trivial coffee and mostly homemade ingredients. He wasn't sure what Mx. Loves had said the website name was going to be, Tommy's memory was pretty bad recently, but he assumed it was something related to Trivial.

Mx. Loves, Eret Loves, was the co-owner of Trivial, alongside Hannah Rose; their friend, Fundy, was the one making the website for them. (Not for free, even if they were friends, Fundy was a broke college drop-out that needed to pay apartment rent.)

If Tommy went into Ms. Rose's office, he'd see a flurry of post-it notes everywhere, notebooks with ideas for the website jolted down, different coffee types, and other stuff Tommy had only gotten a glimpse of when Hannah and Eret were talking to him about a new pastry they made that Tommy needed to try, so he could recommend things to the customers— you can't really recommend stuff without trying it first, now can you?

Tommy groaned as he tried to scrub a particularly stubborn stain on the counter, Aimsey, the main baker, (and occasional server,) had gotten jelly on the counter, and jelly was a bitch to get off after it dried.

He cheered mentally as it began to chip away— then, then, when he checked, it was finally gone; small victories. The boy was just about to mop and sweep the floors when the door chimed, "Oh, did you forget something, Pur—" Tommy glanced up, looked back down, then processed and looked back up. "Aye, Soot! The café is closed, dickhead. Can't you read signs?"

The man chuckled, and Tommy wanted to rip his vocal chords out right then and there. "No, I know," he grinned at the teenager, who scowled right back, though Tommy was confused.

"Okay? Then leave, bitch." He huffed, "Why're you here?" The man smiled, "To see you, walk you home. The attacks have been pretty bad lately," at that, Tommy paused.

How did he— how did he know… where..? He furrowed his brows at Soot, "How did you know where I work? I don't recall telling you." Tommy's grip tightened on the mop, and he saw Soot's face morph into… something. It was gone as soon as it appeared.

Soot walked forward, Tommy took a step back. "I know the owner."

"Which one?" "Eret— Eret Loves." The brunet added on, "I don't know Hannah that well, though. We've only talked once, briefly." Soot walked over to Tommy before he could move or react, really; Soot's legs were long.

"So, you're friends with Eret?" Tommy asked, curiosity edging into his voice. "How come they've never mentioned you?" The man just laughed, and Tommy furrowed his brows in confusion— what did Tommy say? He didn't make a joke, and he was sure he didn't sound stupid.

"Oh, Toms," Soot smiled and Tommy shifted in place. Ranboo was the only one who called him that, yet Tommy didn't feel defensive when Soot did. "Eret and I aren't friends."

"What d'ya mean? Why else would they tell you I work here?" He tilted his head, "It came up in… conversation." The shopkeeper replied, "Hey, you should close up. It's late out and I don't want to worry Phil by going home late because I walked you home late," Soot put his hands in his pockets.

"Hey, since when did I agree to you walking me home?" Tommy frowned, he felt a bit babied, "I'm not a child!" He fumed, and to prove his point, he refrained from the urge to stomp his foot.

"Hot-headed, aren't you?" Tommy opened up his mouth, because that was not the right thing to say, but Soot spoke again before Tommy could get a word in.

"Tommy, I would rather you not get mauled by a vampire or mugged by some dude," the man raised a brow, "and I trust— hope that you feel the same way." Tommy scoffed, "Whatever. I can kick your ass, bitch." Soot hummed, accepting the answer as Tommy didn't disagree.

"Grab a hand-towel and wipe down the coffee makers, then. Unless you're too much of a fuckin' rich snob to do that?" He put the mop into the soapy water, letting it sit there while he swept.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Soot grab a towel and heard the sound of running water, then an "oh," when he found the soap under the sink. Tommy smiled a bit at that, with Soot doing that while he swept and mopped, Tommy could go home a bit earlier than we would when he usually closed.

It went by in mostly silence, although sometimes Soot would ask him things like "what's your favorite color" and "do you like gold," which confused Tommy a bit, but he answered, anyway.

"Hm, blue. Like, deep— deep ocean blue. Like the sea, man." Which Soot snorted a bit at, "Gold— ya' mean real gold?" Tommy furrowed his brows, and Soot nodded. "I've never had any. You're just a rich wrong'un— the fake gold I've had looks pretty, shiny stuff, innit?" He nodded to himself, "It makes the werewolf brain go haywire. Bitch to make it stop, ya'know?"

"Oh, yeah, werewolves like shiny stuff. Tech goes crazy when we buy him stuff like that, sometimes he instinctively makes a nest and stuffs us— Phil and me, into it, along with his shiny shit," Soot snorted, "he puts his gold in his hoard after. Is hoard the right word? I know dragon hybrids use the word 'hoard.'" Tommy nodded, "Yeah, 'hoard' is correct, though sometimes were'olves use other words so they're not confused as dragons."

And that was that, and soon enough, the café was all clean and Tommy was yawning from exhaustion. Love-love-love, nest, den, friends, playmates, his pup brain barked, and Tommy almost purred at the thought, he hadn't even noticed his tail was wagging until Wilbur commented, "Excited to go home, huh?" Tommy couldn't even find it in him to be embarrassed or defensive; "Yeah, my friend, Tubbo, is probably up, 'Ran might be sleeping." He walked with Wilbur to the door after turning off all the lights and putting cleaning supplies away, the door chiming.

"Tubbo's the one we saw before, right?" "Uh…" Tommy thought about it for a moment, "yeah. Clingy bitch," he muttered, affectionately. Wilbur seemed to hear it, as he laughed. "Phil'll love you, dude." "I have to see 'im at one point, thank 'im for the watch. Oh, shit, I have to pick up my watch." "Can't you check your phone?" Wilbur asked, and Tommy giggled a bit. "Wilbur, not everyone has phones— enough money to buy 'em. I'm almost there, though. Just won't be able to turn the phone number 'n' shit on until I get a raise or wha'ever." He shrugged, and Wilbur's mouth turned into an 'o'.

"Oh, I thought you would since Trivial's busy most of the time." "How do you know that?" "You don't work every day, Tommy." Wilbur had an amused smile on his face, "How much do they pay you an hour?" And before he could think about it, Tommy blurted out: "Seven dollars an hour," gods, he liked saying pounds much more. Fuckin' America. Shit place.

Wilbur raised a brow, "That's what minors get paid, usually. Adults get more than that," and Tommy nearly shit his pants. "Uh, I meant seventeen dollars. Thought it was obvious." He lied through his teeth, and by Wilbur Soot's still amused expression and raised brow, he did not buy it.

"Wha'ever, walk me to your stupid fuckin' cottagecore lame-ass shop," Tommy huffed, and the brunet led him to it, making small talk sometimes, but mostly silence in the air.

"Fuck, it's cold," Tommy grumbled, shivering a bit. "You can wear my coat." Soot suggested; the brown trench coat looked tempting, but when was he ever not stubborn? "No. Keep your coat, Soot." Tommy glared, and Soot seemed a bit surprised at his tone. What had Wilbur done to warrant an icy stare and venomous tone?

He shrugged it off, Tommy might be tired, and the cold wasn't helping.

The shop was closer now, "Tommy, you're going to freeze to death, just take—" "I said no! Fuck off!" He spat at Soot, the words leaving Tommy a sour, unpleasant taste in his mouth.

Soot furrowed his eyebrows, he stopped walking, and Tommy did, too. "What?" The blond fumed.

Tommy himself didn't really understand why he was so angry, it was partly because he didn't want to be pitied, babied, because he didn't have a coat, for fuck's sake! It was just a coat!

Not everyone can afford one that lasts longer than a month, one that actually keeps you warm and safe from the wind's harsh breeze.

And what pissed him off most was the puppy in his head that screamed at Tommy, No! Provider good! Pup bad! Submit! Angry bad! It made him want to, as bad as it sounds, kick the fucking puppy. He wanted to tear out his owb brain and replace it with stuffing from the fucking plush sitting on the bunk bed at home, and, oh, home.

Tommy wanted to be home— to collapse on the uncomfortable bed while his friends slept better than he ever would, he wanted to chat with Tubbo and maybe Ranboo until he passed out.

"Tommy," Soot's usual warm voice was now a bit stern, and it almost made Tommy freeze. Almost. "What? Spit it out." Tommy growled, tail swishing in frustration; Provider good, no bad! Submit, submit! Provider mad, and Tommy did freeze at that.

When did it accept Soot as pack? It made his stomach turn, and at the newfound discovery, he only became more sour. "I don't know why you insist on hanging out with me or whatever the fuck it is you're doing," Tommy spat, "oh, wait! I know! It's because you pity me, isn't it? You find a poor, sad, little kid working for seven dollars an hour, trying to pay the bills with his roommates who probably don't give a flying fuck about him," his voice quivered.

"And you decide that you'll grace him with your presence and your fancy watch and rings," Tommy gestured to his arm and hands, and oh, gods, Tommy might cry— "show him what he'll never have! What he dreams of, what he wants, because he's a pathetic little teenager," his voice cracked, "who can— can only want, want, want, and that's what always gets him in trouble, the wanting, the being clingy, the—" the angry -sad?- teenager huffed, "you don't care about me. I know, because no one does." ( That was a lie. ) Tommy balled up his hands and started digging his nails into his skin.

"To—" Soot looked shocked, concerned— worried, and Tommy convinced himself it wasn't true, because nothing ever is, it's all too good to be true, and most of all, he's being an utter dick, but he can't stop the words, it's been bottled up for so long, and he can't, he can't, he can't, he can't, he can't, he ca—

"No! Just admit it, you just feel pity, pity for the boy with sunk-in cheeks, eyebags on his face, you feel pity for me, and I don't want your fucking pity." The first tear, the first tear fell down his cheek and got stuck on his chin, it itched, it itched, and he hated it, he hated how his cheeks started… vibrating, bordering numb, but not enough, because nothing ever is, and he doesn't deserve that, but he wants it—

"Say it!" Tommy sobbed, and Soot… Wilbur looked so — heartbroken, and Tommy couldn't understand why, because if he did let himself understand, it wouldn't end well. "Sa— say it!" He heard and felt his voice shake and give out at the end, but he couldn't care. He could never care.

"I… Toms," Tommy almost dropped to his knees and screamed at that, the pure concern in it, it wasn't pity, but it has to be, because it always is.

(He ignored when Ranboo calmed him down from a nightmare, brotherly love and concern dripping from his lips.)

"Why do you— you…" Tommy tried to find the words, voice just above a whisper, "It sounds real. The way you say things, the way it sounds—" he choked, "it sounds nice." Wilbur would just have to deal with that choice of words, because Tommy was recovering from an almost panic attack and he was not going to speak more than necessary.

"Toms, I don't pity you," Wilbur spoke gently, like when Tubbo whispers him awake sometimes, holding a cup of hot chocolate with a smidge of milk, cinnamon, and sometimes whipped cream, just how Tommy liked it.

"I worry for you," and oh, gods, Tommy was crying, wasn't he? "I care for you," he was going to throw up, not much would come out if he did, "and I hate to see you so… broken." Wilbur stepped towards Tommy.

This time, he doesn't step back. Step, step, step, stop. Tommy didn't look up at him, much less his eyes; eyes were a vulnerable thing. Wilbur would read him through his eyes, he was convinced.

He felt a hovering hand over his shoulder, and it slowly, lightly, rested on Tommy's shoulder.

It took him so much power to not melt into it, but then Tommy heard a purr from Wilbur, and he collapsed into the man, the frustration, instead of toxic words and tones, formed into an abundance of tears.

"Oh, Tommy," he felt Wilbur's chest vibrate as he spoke, "You're okay." And for once, Tommy thinks he believes him.

So he lets loose, lets himself do a purr of his own, lets his tail loosely wrap around Wilbur's leg, lets his puppy brain howl in excitement, and Tommy lets out a small, broken whine.

"I know," Wilbur wraps his arms around Tommy's back now, and he couldn't feel more cared for.

(It was possibly equal to when Ranboo and Tubbo hugged him on the rare occasions Tommy would ask.)

That night, he went home with dried tears on his face that felt sticky, (he hated crying so much) a new… friendship— no, pack member; family, a lifted weight from his heart, a shiny watch given to him by Techno, (Phil was busy, Tommy will meet him soon, he decided,) and two very awake roommates who, after Tommy asked, cuddled in Ranboo's bunk bed with him, sharing platonic and familial love.

Tommy did have nightmares, but when he jolted awake, he found Tubbo and Ranboo with him.

Chapter Text

Hello, lovely readers. (:

I have been unmotivated to make another chapter for this, hence why I made the foster fic.

Chapter four of that fic is in my docs, I tried publishing it and after editing I went to find a bookmark in another tab, me, writing and publishing on an android phone, after switching the tab back to the draft, lost all of the editing (italics n such, it took half an hour). Worry not— chapter four of that fic will be out soon.

However, this fic will not be receiving an update. The reasoning for that is because I am going to remake this fic, with changes.

• Those 'OCs' (my friend, boyfriend, and I) in chapter one will not be in the remake. They will likely be replaced with CCs, but will probably not be big in the story unless I get an idea for it, it will also not be so dialogue heavy/casual when they meet... since, you know, they almost got killed.

• Benchtrio will be 18 or over instead of Tommy being 14, Ranboo being 18, etc,. I will be using their IRL ages. The reason why Tommy will not be 14 anymore is simply because I don't know how to work the logistics of Tommy tricking the government, getting a fake ID, etc,.

• Tommy's gonna be trans... because I can.

• 3/4 will be more unsettling to Tommy, and unsettling in general. He will not be as casual with them as he was in this fic.

• 3/4 SBI will be vampires, like they already were, but instead of Technoblade being the hybrid, (vampire/werewolf) Philza will. Tommy will be a werewolf still, but he won't have ears or the tail when not presenting as a wolf. I'm taking inspiration from a fic I'm reading, which I will put in after publishing this so I don't have to retype/paste this all.

• Technoblade is awkward, yes, like in this, but also more eerie. Lol.

• Dream won't be fae... (:

After, like, chapter two of this I was like, "wow... I hate this," and after I published chapter four of this I decided I should remake it.

So, if you have emails on and wish to read the remake, subscribe to the series or to me, or just check the series/my account.

If you do follow me to the remake, or even if you don't, I appreciate you. Even for reading up to here.